The Wonderful World Affair
by Scifiroots
Summary: In response to Paula’s Friday challenge on the Channel F list, write something on the theme of “celebration.” Enjoy! pre NapoleonIllya ish


Title: The Wonderful World Affair

By: Clarity / Karasu karasumouri (at) earthlink (dot) net

Category: Gen, fluff (no spoilers, nothin')

Disclaimers: You and I both know the rules, we don't own the boys but we can play… For once the characters remain undamaged as I return them. I'm so proud.

Summary: In response to Paula's Friday challenge on the Channel F list, write something on the theme of "celebration." Enjoy!

Archiving: Art of Life and File 40, anyone else is free to ask, just please let me know where it will be and give me credit.

Author's note: This is my first Man from U.N.C.L.E. piece. I figure a short, fluffy thing is good to start out with ) You'll have to pardon my timeline whoopsie… Louis Armstrong had not recorded "What a Wonderful World" by the time this is set (only two years into IK & NS's partnership), so just suspend your belief for this, kay?

May 29, 2004 - Unedited

"It was just one tiny little fib...Okay a lie...a big fat lie, but ..."

"No!" his partner abruptly cut him off, accented by his sudden stop as he whirled around on his heel.

Napoleon reached a hand out to brace himself with the wall to keep from colliding into the smaller blond.

"Illya…" he attempted to use his best soothing tone.

"Ah!" The blond's glare and raised finger stopped him again. Resigned to his fate, Napoleon sighed and shifted his weight. The blond studied him with a hard stare normally reserved for the poor souls subjected to the Russian as interrogator. Napoleon pulled a sulky expression, doing quite the good impression of a kicked puppy. Of course, Illya would not waver.

People passing them in the corridor were starting to sneak hurried glances at them, wondering what exactly Napoleon had done to receive such obvious frustration from his partner of two years. The CEA of U.N.C.L.E. New York loosened his tie slightly, feeling uncomfortable with an audience added to his partner's intense glare.

"Uh, Illya, do you mind taking this out of the hallway?"

The intense gaze finally broke. Illya glanced sidelong at the suddenly quickly moving U.N.C.L.E. personnel. He snorted softly before locking his gaze on Napoleon again. "Never mind, I have nothing to say." With that, he turned and stalked away, his tense shoulders advertising his anger as Napoleon watched him go.

He struggled with an inner debate of whether to follow after his partner or stay clear. Replaying the short scene only a few moments ago, he decided to stay low for at least a few hours. As he headed in the opposite direction of his partner, he wondered over what had just happened.

The evening before they had been debriefed about their latest accomplished mission. When Waverly excused them, Napoleon had casually proposed the idea of a victory dinner the following evening, not very unusual. True, there had been a spark of something unusual in Illya's eyes with the offer and a small, almost shy smile had graced the blond's lips when he spoke his acquiescence. That brought his thoughts to this morning and his encounter with the new, busty, transfer from South America into their translations department. He smiled at the memory of their "accidental" encounter. She had seemed quite taken with him and he had all but had her in his pocket when Illya dropped by.

His partner had unfortunately overheard Esperanza purring her agreement to meet Napoleon for dinner that night. Broken dinner engagements weren't unusual, either, which was what was puzzling the CEA at the moment. Illya had furiously slammed the files he had brought in on a startled secretary's desk and than took off down the hallway. With murmured apologies and promises for later, Napoleon had hurried after his partner. Now he was right back in the present, nearing his office with hurried steps.

What was going on with Illya?

His taciturn, Russian friend almost never let his emotions leap beyond control. Of course, being both friend and close partner for nearly two years did expose Napoleon to the rare occasions where Illya lost his tightly held restraint; but never over something as mundane as this. Grateful to finally reach his office, Napoleon sank down into his chair with a sigh and completely disregarded the paperwork waiting for him.

Was there something special about their former dinner engagements? He didn't think so, especially since it was he who was planning it—all it was for was another mission accomplished. He remembered Illya's quiet pleasure when he had asked and suddenly he wondered what was going on here. He tapped his index finger against his lip in thought and leaned back. The sooner he figured out what was going on, the sooner he could figure out how to arrange things so that everyone involved would be back on track.

I guess I'll get the papers and go home, like I've been doin' ever since we've been apart… 

Illya resisted the urge to sigh at the lyrics filtering from the other room from Louis Armstrong's rotund voice. He really hated self-pitying, but he hadn't been able to escape it today. His anger at Napoleon had faded a few hours ago as a degree of guilt and doubt had set in. Now he was left with his troubled emotions, his records, a bottle of vodka, and himself.

He walked back into his small living room and approached the open window to feel the cool evening breeze play across his skin. He had loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves and discarded his jacket, but otherwise hadn't changed from his work clothes. It didn't really matter, he didn't think that even his favorite sweats and turtleneck could offer much comfort tonight.

Scowling to himself, he searched out his abandoned glass of vodka.

…_I wonder if you get the papers too, and if you feel as melancholy as I do…_

Illya was frustrated enough that he was seriously considering dislodging the record and send it sailing out the window. He hadn't completely lost his mind, thankfully, and he didn't do anything he would deeply regret later. Instead, he moved to another track, hoping it would be better on his spirits. He normally really enjoyed Louis, after all.

He settled himself back onto the cushions of the couch and closed his eyes.

I see trees of green, red roses too, I see them bloom for me and you, and I think to myself… 

"What a wonderful world," he muttered darkly over the music's sweet melody. He sighed and was immediately annoyed with himself. If he thought he could fall asleep, he would have already gone to bed and just let the day pass without further drama. By tomorrow morning it wouldn't matter any longer, so why did it have to torture him tonight?

There was a staccato rapping on his door as the third stanza started. His expression hardening to a cool mask of indifference, Illya rose to answer—that had been Napoleon's knock.

The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky, are also on the faces of people going by… 

He undid the deadbolt and unlocked the door. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to open the door politely. He hadn't expected to have a brightly wrapped box shoved right under his nose. Illya took a step back in surprise and looked up to meet his partner's eyes. Napoleon lips were widened in a smile, but his eyes spoke volumes of apology and guilt.

"Happy birthday, partner."

Illya blinked, alternating his dubious stare between his partner's face and was clearly a present held in the air between them.

Napoleon cleared his throat loudly, a small smile of amusement tugging at his lips. "I am very sorry, my friend. I assure you that I would not have considered dodging such an important event. Am I forgiven?"

Still reeling from the surprise of seeing Napoleon on his doorstep, Illya refused to give in too easily. He scowled at his partner and grabbed the present from his grip. "That depends," he said.

"Ah. On what?" Napoleon stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him, watching as Illya hesitantly shook the box. He listened intently, his head cocked to the side, but nothing seemed telling. Hiding his smile, Napoleon said, "Perhaps I could add a little incentive?" He was pleased to see that he had caught Illya's attention; blue eyes sparkled with open interest. "You see, I happen to be here so late because I was busy preparing dinner—"

"Oh, really?" the blond inquired innocently. He suddenly held the present awkwardly in his hands and looked down at the floor.

Napoleon grinned. "Yes, I really was. There was someone I thought should enjoy it… I don't suppose his birthday majesty would care to come over to enjoy a meal?"

"Not a victory supper?" Illya teased gently, a smirk in place.

"So it will be a victory and birthday dinner, extra special," he relented. As he watched Illya go about the apartment, turning out the lamps and cutting off Louis Armstrong, Napoleon shifted slightly, a bit of his earlier nervousness returning. "Uh, Illya, I really am very sorry. I hadn't really thought of the date."

The blond approached him with his jacket tossed over his elbow while he worked on pulling his sleeves down. One of his rare, pure smiles touched his expression and he shook his head slightly. "It is still some hours before midnight, my friend, and here you are."

Napoleon returned the smile and opened the door, motioning Illya to go before him. "Then we might as well celebrate before the morning comes."

"And what of Esperanza?" Illya inquired as he locked the door.

Napoleon responded honestly, "Who?"

Quickly hidden, Illya smiled contently.

Fin


End file.
